What's In A Name?
by AMKelley
Summary: Apparently, Peter talks as fast as he runs and it's really starting to get on Hank's nerves, especially when he's trying to get work done.


At first Hank didn't really notice it. The subtle short gusts of air, as if something had passed by him at the speed of light, went unnoticed for the most part, but then things started to move around the lab. He had an idea or two about who might be messing with him and a certain quickster popped into his head more than he'd like to admit.

Hank sat back from his microscope to blindly reach for his drink and after a few fumbling tries he cast a gaze over towards the spot. It wasn't there. He quickly looked over to the opposite side to see it sitting on a small stack of files. Hank grabbed it precariously, taking a brief sip from it before setting it down on the side he could've sworn he set it in the first place.

He could've been mistaken, but Hank would never leave any exposed liquid on top of important files. He turned back to his microscope, finding it to be a few inches away from him and this time Hank knew something was afoot. Hank felt something brush against the nape of his neck and it sent him spinning when he turned around fast to see what it was, but no one was there.

"Whatcha up to, Hank? Is this your lab? Whaddya workin' on?" Peter shot off in a barrage of questions, making his presence known as he toyed with various containers. "What's this? Is this contagious? This is safe to touch, right?"

"Peter!" Hank groaned, feeling his brain throb vaguely. Peter was messing with a jar that once contained diseased tissue, but it was mostly benign by now. "One question at a time! And put that down."

"Why?"

"Because it's not a toy," Hank sighed.

"Yeah, but will it kill me?"

"Yes, now set it down," Hank lied, hoping Peter would believe it enough to listen.

"Alright, alright," Peter conceded, setting the jar down and raising his hands up in surrender.

Peter zipped around to where Hank averted his attention back to his experiment, picking up a small vial and carefully pouring it's contents onto a fresh microscope slide. Hank nearly dropped the slide when Peter bumped into him as he zipped from one side to the other. Hank fumbled it but caught it as he groaned under his breath, resounding in his throat as if to growl. Peter backed away a little at this.

"Sorry," he said with a small blush. Hank's shoulders slumped a little and Peter took this as a good sign. "So... What are you working on?"

"Nothing really," Hank forces out, because he doesn't know exactly where to begin to explain something like this to Peter. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," Peter says, nudging Hank's shoulder with an elbow.

"You know that serum me and Charles use that suppresses our powers?" Hank inquires rhetorically, looking up at Peter briefly enough to see him nod. "Well, I'm trying to synthesize a slightly modified formula of that one so-"

"So Charles can walk again and still use his powers without any side effects, like your dose?" Peter concludes on a whim, eliciting surprise from Hank.

"Precisely," Hank says with wonder, making a weird face that questions Peter's resolve. Peter just shrugs nonchalantly.

"Not everyone around you is a complete idiot, Hank," Peter chuckles, pulling up a stool to sit next to Hank. "I can dig the whole science thing."

"It's wrong of me to assume that, but it's really just a force of habit, you know? Like a compulsion," Hank tells him a little bashfully.

Peter seems to understand this quite well, though, due to his borderline kleptomania.

"So how's it coming along?"

"Let's just say it's easier said than done. I'm far from finding an appropriate serum to counterbalance with his paralysis without affecting his abilities," Hank sighs.

"Maybe it's a sign," Peter offers, watching Hank grow restless when he pulls away from his microscope once again. "Maybe this is how Charles is supposed to be."

"Yeah, and maybe I'm meant to be blue and furry?" Hank snorts indignantly.

He takes off his glasses to rub at his eyes, like he's been up for days without blinking, and set them back on the bridge of his nose. Peter can see the tension raising in Hank's shoulders, wanting nothing more than to reach out and soothe the genius to the best of his abilities, but the moment passes as Peter is snapped out of his daze when Hank's watch goes off.

"Speaking of which," Hank comments as he disables his alarm.

Hank moves his microscope aside and pulls out a special kit containing the suppressant that keeps him non-blue and hairless. Peter watches him unzip it swiftly, glancing occasionally at his watch, and pulling out one of four syringes. He rolls up one sleeve, finding a vein before finally injecting himself with the yellowish liquid. Peter notices that he doesn't wince in the slightest even as he pulls the needle out and he has to wonder how long he's been accustomed to this.

"It's in proportion," Hank says, knowing the look Peter must be giving him. "It doesn't affect me like it does with Charles. Mine isn't a painkiller."

"Doesn't necessarily have to be to make you an addict," Peter comments.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Hank asks with some irritation as he changes the subject. "Haven't you got someone else to heckle?"

"But you look so adorable when you're frustrated," Peter mocks playfully, twirling a lock of Hank's hair in the process. His hand gets swatted away and he smirks. "I actually need your help with something."

"Oh, yeah?" Hank asks with disbelief. "What happened this time? Did you piss off one of the professors with one of your pranks again? Because you're certainly starting to-"

"Please, you honestly think I'd get caught? Don't be ridiculous," Peter scoffs with absurdity. "I haven't really come up with a codename yet and I really just want an outsider's opinion, you know? What do you think would suit me?"

"How about Captain Verbose? Or perhaps Motor Mouth?" Hank huffs only half amused with himself as he zips up his special syringe kit.

"I was thinking something that pertained more to my ability," Peter justifies a bit more seriously.

"Like your increasingly annoying ability to talk as fast as you run?" Hank points out.

"I don't talk fast, you just talk too slow," Peter clarifies, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're the one who's under developed."

"Why do you keep messing with me anyway?" Hank asks finally, referring to earlier. "Moving my stuff around? Brushing past me? Driving me up the wall?"

"I dunno," Peter shrugs, fiddling with the hem of his jacket sleeve. He lets their previous conversation go, seeing as how Hank's not being very serious. "Just something to do, I guess. Keeps me from stealing. You wouldn't want me to relapse just because you aren't being a good sport about it, do you?"

"God forbid I have that eventual crisis on my conscience," Hank remarks.

"Oh, bite me..." Peter sighs, pushing Hank roughly to the point he falls off of his stool.

Just as fast as he falls, Peter is there on the other side of Hank to catch him just as quickly. He was like a blur clad in silver and he moved so fast that he was merely a grey smear in time if you were to look hard enough. They stare at each other for a brief moment as Peter holds Hank close, heart beating faster from the shot of adrenaline followed by his naturally quick reflexes. Hank's hair is ruffled from where Peter had sped past him at the speed of light to catch him and his glasses are slightly crooked.

"You okay?" Peter asks a little concerned. Hank nods his head and makes a small noise, trying to fix his glasses and stand up on his own. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to shove you so hard."

They both struggled for a moment as they regained their stance, but Peter held onto Hank long after he was capable of standing up on his own. Somehow, Peter felt obligated to hold Hank close and make sure he was alright. It was a habit that formed not too long after Wanda, his sister, was born and now Hank had inherited the receiving end of this particular quirk. Peter was aware that Hank hardly needed to be babied, but it didn't deter him from suppressing the urge to do so.

"To be fair, you move so fast it's almost as if it never happened," Hank chuckles vaguely, staring up at the silver haired boy.

Endless pools of black stared back down at him with a warmth that was so surreal but in itself something impossible altogether. Hank had never seen eyes so dark and it was uncanny how they deeply contrasted with his pale complexion and silver hair. It was in this moment when Peter's codename dawned on Hank at almost perfect timing.

"What?" Peter inquires nervously as Hank continues to stare at him strangely.

"Nothing," Hank brushes off casually, grinning vaguely. "I just thought of the perfect name for you."

"Well, come on! What is it?" Peter rattles off with excitement, getting frustrated with each second that ticks by and Hank doesn't say a word. Hank just stands there, slow and silent. "Tell me! I need to know now!"

Hank smirked.

It was going to be fun making Peter wait for an answer.


End file.
